


it's familiar (but not too familiar)

by Macremae



Category: My Brother My Brother and Me (Podcast), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, Ghost Drifting, Humor, M/M, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Pre-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Screenplay/Script Format, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Time Skips, but only in some sections, oh why did i let mary let me write this, parasocial relationships, thee mortifying ordeal of being known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: The Gottlieb siblings are not experts, and their advice should never be followed. Hermann insists he’s a sextant-spert, but if there’s another degree on his wall, I haven’t seen it. Also, this show isn’t for kids, which I mention only so the babies out there will know how cool they are for listening. What’s up, you cool baby?Out of all the people in the universe, the multi-verse, even, Newt Geiszler wasn't expecting to end up with a research partner who was also a host of his favorite anti-advice podcast. Or for him to be such an unrepentant dickwad. But maybe post production adds ten points of charm or likability or whatever; the point is that they've got a world to save, and the Kaiju don't care about anybody's stupid Webby Award.And of course, neither does Newt. Obviously.
Relationships: Hermann Gottlieb & Karla Gottlieb, Hermann Gottlieb & Vanessa Gottlieb, Karla Gottlieb/Vanessa Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	it's familiar (but not too familiar)

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time i was on a run and calling charles and said to myself hey wouldn't it be funny if hermann karla and vanessa engaged in an advice show for the modren era and he said wow newt once again another horrible idea which as you all know is the green means go signal for me to immediately write it. yes i have met travis he moderated a wtnv novel book tour panel at jospeh beth in rookwood and i will fucking throw down for this nice nice man. justin is still best brother tho. discourse the best brother with me @bae-science on tumblr and @shakesexual on twt

_The Gottlieb siblings are not experts, and their advice should never be followed. Hermann insists he’s a sextant-spert, but if there’s another degree on his wall, I haven’t seen it. Also, this show isn’t for kids, which I mention only so the babies out there will know how cool they are for listening. What’s up, you cool baby?_

* * *

_The following is a transcript from the My Sister, My Sister, and Me episode titled “67: God Ain’t Fishin’ Here”. Dialogue has been lightly edited for clarity._

Vanessa: What the fuck are you wearing? Did you get a concussion before we started?

Hermann: What?

Vanessa: Your tie has a bird on it.

Hermann: A single bird.

Karla: Do you have something planned tonight? Are you dating an ornithologist?

Hermann: No. Hello and welcome to My Sister, My Sister and Me, an advice show for our changing times. I am the one who is not a sister, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.

Karla: I’m the one who’s a biological sister, Karla Gottlieb.

Vanessa: And I’m the ex-wife—

Hermann (overlapping): Sister in law.

Vanessa: —Vanessa Gottlieb. Now, I wanna return back to the topic of Hermann’s tie—

Hermann: No.

Vanessa: Because, folks, for those of you not in the know—

Hermann: I dislike you.

Vanessa: Hermann is a solid color kinda guy. I’ve literally never seen him with like, a dot pattern before. Karla?

Karla: It is unprecedented. Hermann, terribly sorry, but you chose this path when you wore it on the call; you dug your ditch and there’s a pillow with your name on it at the very bottom.

Hermann: I don’t understand why you two have chosen to fixate on this. Karla, before we began you wouldn’t stop telling us how terrible one of the Yahoos was.

Karla: Oh no, I’m committed to this now. Bollocks to Yahoo Answers.

Vanessa: And there goes that sponsorship campaign.

Hermann: Why would they ever sponsor us? We deliberately mine their darkest corners for the worst questions people have asked, and publicly air them on our show. And the answers aren’t much better.

Vanessa: Well yeah, that’s the point. We can’t be bought and sold by big businesses.

Karla: Hermann works for the government, Vanessa.

Vanessa: It’s a flavor of bootlicker I’m comfortable with seeing as we’re fighting aliens and not third world countries. Hermann, literally any information about why there’s a bird on your chest and I’ll stop.

Hermann: It’s a cardinal.

Vanessa: You’re Jewish.

Karla: Dear, that joke was terrible; never do that again. Anyway, our first question is sent to us from Lauren, who asks: “Dear Gottliebs, my dad is a long-distance trucker who sometimes brings me home terrible, ugly t-shirts from rest stops along the way. I love them a lot, but my problem is that I recently came out as trans, and now I have a bunch of super masculine shirts that I just don’t feel comfortable wearing anymore. I can’t bear to get rid of them, so what should I do?

Vanessa: So the clear answer here is to make them into a cape, right?

Hermann: Undoubtedly. Let’s discuss historical eras.

* * *

Newt hurries through the panel hall doors out into the main area, pulling the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder while he scans the crowd for an opening. He’s fucking _starved_ , and nothing makes you wish STEM conventions offered meatless options more than a two-hour panel on new techniques in organ replacement surgery. Especially when they pull out the video demonstrations.

He pushes his way through the throng of people, temporarily grateful for his height as it easily allows him to duck around clusters of idiots who think just standing in the middle of the flow of traffic isn’t a dick move. The cafeteria area is just past a long line of tech startup booths, each with more of a black and white color scheme than the last, and Newt’s stomach growls as he steps into line for the Mac n’ Cheese station. 

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, intending to put in some earbuds and tune his mind into slightly less gory pastures, but a sound from behind him causes him to pause. Newt lets one wire drop and turns, looking up to see a stuffily-dressed, clearly annoyed man frowning at him.

“Excuse me,” he says in a clipped, British accent. “You stepped in front of me.”

Newt feels his face heat up, and he grins sheepishly. “Oh shit, sorry, man,” he apologizes, and quickly lets the man walk in front of him. Just his luck, too; the only cute guy in a convention center full of weedy nerds (which he is, but like, in a way that Newt kinda digs), and he cuts in front of him.

At Newt’s apology, the man lets out a huff of breath. “It’s alright. Thank you.”

Maybe they can try this again. Newt gives him what he’s workshopped to be his brightest, most charming grin, and sticks out his hand. “Dr. Newt Geiszler,” he says, “but call me Newt! Here for the engineering stuff? I say as a compliment; you seem like the type.”

The man’s frown lessens ever-so-slightly. “I specialize in the field, yes, but I’m presenting a physics panel tomorrow. Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.”

Newt’s eyes widen, and he feels his mouth drop nearly to the floor. “Holy shit,” he says faintly, “oh my God. Like—like Gottlieb? From _My Sister, My Sister, and Me_? Dude, I love your podcast!” He holds up his phone, opening it to show the episode he was about to listen to, titled _73: Peanut Butter Containment Breach_. “But like— you said you were a doctor; I didn’t know you just did math stuff!”

Hermann’s expression twists into one of indignance. “I will have you know,” he says in a chilly voice, “that not only is my research pertaining to far more than simple ‘math stuff’’, but it appears the tales of your foot’s propensity for your own mouth, _Dr. Geiszler_ , were in fact not exaggerating.”

Newt takes a step back, a little annoyed. “Hey, dude, chill, okay? I’m just surprised you’re not a medical officer or something. I mean, I remember you said you were stationed in San Francisco, and that’s pretty much where they only keep supplies and the real pencil pushers, so I just assumed—”

“ _‘Pencil pushers’_?” Hermann echoes, face reddening by the second. “The only reason you stand here today is because of the Jaegers that _I_ developed code for, and the Breach equation that _I_ created. Or perhaps you were too busy penning a love letter to those disgusting Kaiju to properly look at the program and see that _that is what my presentation is on_.”

“Look who’s making assumptions now!” shouts Newt, maybe a little louder than is polite for a public area, but _come on_ , this guy is an asshole. “I’m not in love with Kaiju, okay, I study them, and at least I’m actually _doing_ something concrete for the PPDC instead of wheeling around an office all day in a spinny chair crunching numbers!”

“Tearing apart the corpses of mindless monsters should not even constitute itself as a real research position!” Hermann fires back, equally as loud and gripping the head of his cane with white knuckles. “What do you intend to do to close the Breach; throw stray organs at it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do, huh? Bore the Kaiju to death by reciting pi until they blow themselves up?”

“At least I don’t cover myself with creatures that have killed thousands of people, then strut around claiming to be a scientific expert! If you adore those things so much, the Pacific is a few blocks away!”

“I’ll see you there!” Newt shrieks, not processing that the insult doesn’t really work until he’s already stormed a few steps away. Face burning, he pauses and turns back to add, “And fuck you and your stupid Webby Award! Why don’t you take that microphone and shove it up your ass?!”

Hermann makes a kind of scandalized choking sound, but Newt doesn’t bother giving in to his urge to see the look on his face. _Never_ meet your heroes, he decides, scowling. Especially if they clearly don’t take their own advice.

* * *

_The following is a transcript from the My Sister, My Sister, and Me episode titled “100: Lavender Tax Evasion”. Dialogue has been lightly edited for clarity._

Karla: Hermann, you promised. The Statute of Limitations is long past, and we promised for the 100th we’d explain our intro.

Vanessa: Or would you rather me just tell the entire thing completely unchecked?

Hermann: Now I never said that.

Vanessa: Exactly. So, basically, the reason for Hermann and my bit at the beginning about the whole “ex-wife-slash-sister-in-law” thing is because, as y’all know, I’m married to Karla, and she’s Hermann’s twin, making me his sister in law.

Karla: But what you may not know, unless you’ve been a bit of a creep on Google, is that they also used to be married.

Vanessa: Times were tough! Student loans abound! I was truly destitute!

Hermann: Oh heavens, here we go.

Vanessa: Shush. Anyway, I was going through some personal stuff at the time, and Hermann and Karla were already both in London, so it just kinda made sense for us to all move in together.

Hermann: Codependency at its finest.

Karla: Is it really “co” if there’s three of us?

Hermann: Well—no. I don’t quite know.

Vanessa: Wait, quick sidebar, can you be—uh… tri-dependent? Like a triangle of intense friendship?

Karla: We must have proved that by now.

Hermann: I don’t know if that’s the prefix to use here, though. The original term isn’t di-dependent.

Karla: So is it Greek?

Hermann: Vanessa is the English Major.

Vanessa: Journalism and Media; fuck you. It’s tri, there’s only that one for three.

Hermann: Ah, well then. Problem solved. Where were you?

Vanessa: Uh… We moved in together! Yeah. And the cheapest way to live was based off of married couples getting the highest tax breaks, and also better consideration for apartments than just a brother and sister and their random friend who, uh oh, is also black and they aren’t. 

Karla: Logically, it was better than playing whack-a-mole with terrible landlords.

Hermann: Essentially. So Vanessa and I decided to simply file for a marriage certificate and conduct a brief wedding at the courthouse with Karla as our witness, and this of course was before they began seeing each other.

Vanessa: Please just say dating.

Karla: Technically, we were already “seeing each other”.

Vanessa: Oh baby, I had my eye on you.

Karla: Oh, stop

Hermann (overlapping): Please, stop.

Vanessa: Of course, things got a little more complicated when the vows weren’t done by four-thirty, and the filing office closed at five. Then we had to resort to some, uh, drastic measures.

Hermann: You shouted at the rabbi to, and I quote, “Hurry your glacial ass up already; I didn’t wear my gym shoes for the aesthetic”.

Vanessa: Well I didn’t.

Karla: Yell at him?

Vanessa: No, wear them for the aesthetic. Who wears neon purple Nikes with a white dress? This isn’t Sixth Year.

* * *

To say that Newt is surprised when he’s assigned to the Hong Kong Shatterdome and finds that budget cuts have pushed the entire K-Sci team into a single lab would be inaccurate. Corpocratic stupidity knows no bounds, and he’s fine with sharing the space as long as it brings them literally any distance closer to winning the War. No, what really knocks Newt off his feet is the revelation that a) the entire K-Sci team now consists of him and one other person (sell-out asshole scabs that his former coworkers are), and b) that person is Hermann _fucking_ Gottlieb.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he says faintly, nearly dropping his box of extremely delicate glassware at the sight of Hermann scowling down at him from the top of a colossal chalkboard. “You? Seriously? You’re the only other one left?”

“The feeling is excruciatingly mutual,” Hermann replies with a sneer, grip on his ladder tightening. His knuckles are so white that Newt can see them from here. He gestures at the box. “That had better not be anything organic.”

Newt takes a perverse pleasure in grinning widely. “Nah. Most of my samples are due tomorrow. In the meantime, all my gear gets to air out the cleaner fumes.” He winks. “You’re cool with ammonia, right? I, uh, assume, what with your _eau de retirement home._ ”

The glare Hermann sends him could set an entire village of igloos on fire. “I’m shocked.”

“Uh,” Newt blinks, confused, “about what?”

“That you speak so confidently about your ‘equipment’ and have been given literally anything that isn’t heavily childproofed, and yet are strutting around a military base filled with dangerous machinery and chemicals in…” he pauses, both likely for affect and to curl his lip in disgust, “cutoffs.”

Newt wonders how to respond to that for a whole three seconds. Then, he readjusts his grip on the box and shrugs casually. “I mean, if you wanted to stare at my ass, Hermann, you could just ask.”

The indignant squawk and rattle as Hermann nearly stumbles down a rung _almost_ makes this whole terrible, stupid situation worth it.

They end up putting a line down the middle, of all things, which seems very serious and dramatic until Hermann decides to turn in for the night and realizes that the door to his quarters is on Newt’s side. And Newt’s is on his. Which makes Newt laugh so hard he nearly cries, and Hermann calls him an insult that _definitely_ hasn’t been used since the forties, and by the time they finish arguing and finally slam their respective doors at around one in the morning, Newt has realized two things:

1\. In the single day that he’s shared a lab with Hermann, he’s proposed (and had scathingly rebuked) more theories, better organized his equipment, and been able to actually concentrate for more than ten minutes at a time more often, than he has for the entire first seven years of the War. It’s also the most fun in a continuous stream he’s had in, like, ever.

2\. His very embarrassing, formerly assumed long buried, also formerly parasocial crush on Hermann is back. With a vengeance. And now in technicolor!

Fuck Newt’s life. Like, seriously.

Things only get worse from there. The day Newt snaps every piece of chalk in the lab in half, Hermann puts salt in his coffee, causing him to spit it out over the section of Kaiceph he’s dissecting, which makes the exterior layer bubble (kinda like a snail; crazy!), and suddenly all is on pause in favor of the coolest shit Newt’s ever seen. Hermann changes Newt’s Spotify password and locks him out of his account, and the ensuing argument somehow circles around to the digital Breach model Hermann’s building, which by about six the next morning they’ve successfully finalized with the original fight completely forgotten until Newt tries to play some victory music.

By November, Newt has subconsciously memorized how Hermann takes his tea. By 2021, they’ve been in the decontamination shower enough times that his ( _respectful and extremely secret_ ) fantasies have gotten a _lot_ more vivid. When 2023 rolls around, Newt manages to find the one book by Hermann’s favorite author of pulpy gay historical fiction (that he honestly thought Newt didn’t know about, like, really?) that he doesn’t own, track it down to a tiny used bookstore in Utah that thank _God_ has a website, and have it shipped all the way to fucking _China_ just in time for his birthday. Which is maybe, like, a tad more effort than is normal to go through to get a gift for your sworn rival-slash-possibly-friend, but one of Newt’s favorite personal mottos is go big or go home, so he just uses a sticky note instead of actual wrapping and hopes Hermann focuses more on that.

It’s so weird, the way his disappointment at the illusion of Podcast Hermann being smashed into pieces and then stomped into a fine, sandy powder, slowly gives way to delight at all the ways this Hermann is, somehow, even better. Podcast Hermann doesn’t hum The Libertines’ songs to himself while waiting for his computer to boot up. He doesn’t know an honestly really impressive number of digits of pi, or have interesting albeit highly incorrect opinions on party composition in DnD. He certainly doesn’t give Newt the bright, attentive stare that Real Hermann gives Newt whenever he’s explaining something, even if it’s just to absorb enough information to argue against him. Newt likes watching him; all the little things he does with his hands, the slightly varied colors of his button downs, the way Hermann’s voice gets rough and quiet when it’s time for Newt to force him out of the lab and into bed. 

Hermann has no idea how to use chopsticks, but still insists on trying every time. He fails no matter what. Newt finds it so endlessly charming he wants to vomit. 

The night he wakes up with his face pressed against the cool surface of his desk, drool sticking his cheek to the wood, but the unmistakable weight of Hermann’s large, furry parka draped over him, Newt giggles like an actual fucking teenage girl before he realizes that there might be a problem here. Clearly, he could use some sound advice.

Against literally all better judgement, survival instincts, and personal pride left, Newt snoops on Hermann’s computer until he finds an email that looks like it belongs to one of his sisters. He writes:

_Dear Karla or Vanessa, whichever one reads this, hi. My name is Newt. Hermann might have mentioned me, but in case he told you I was a sewer gremlin that lives in the lab’s cold storage, I’m actually head of biology at K-Sci and the guy he shares a lab with. I’m a big fan of your show, and was wondering if I could ask you two a question I’d rather not have read on the air, or by him. I have a friend who thinks Hermann’s pretty great, and he was wondering if you two had any Hermann-specific advice for him to ask Hermann out. This isn’t for me, obviously, but my friend asked me to write this. [insert dude name here before you send it] would appreciate your help. Thanks, Newt._

A few days later, he gets a reply.

_Dear Newt, Karla speaking. My first piece of advice is to always double check your emails before sending them. You’re lucky that Hermann is so fond of you. Secondly, Vanessa and I are happy to lend a hand, but if you’re amicable, we’d like you to do us a favor in return._

* * *

_The following is a transcript from the My Sister, My Sister, and Me episode titled “237: Hermann Skip This One”. Dialogue has been lightly edited for clarity._

Karla: Well, Kelly, that’s an excellent question, and one that deserves an expert response. Ladies, gentlemen, and those of us who know better, we’ve got a real treat for you today.

Vanessa: I love that phrase—“we’ve got a real treat”. Is it candy? A stripper? A refund? Who knows!

Hermann: It’s also inapplicable to this situation.

[A muffled thumping noise, then another.]

Vanessa: Hey, quit it. Karla, you were saying?

Karla: Yes, thank you. Friends, we’re delighted to have the PPDC’s head of K-Science’s Biology department, former professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and—er—[paper rustling] two time winner of the Hong Kong Shatterdome’s dumpling eating contest—

Hermann: God in heaven.

Karla: Ah—Dr. Newton Geiszler. Welcome to MSMSaM.

Newt: Call me Newt! Only Hermann calls me Newton. And thanks, Karla, it’s awesome to be here. I’m a big fan.

Vanessa: Oh are you? Before or after you and Hermann both joined K-Sci?

Newt: Uh, before. And watching Hermann talk about bird porn while surrounded by orange peels and chalk dust hasn’t dulled the magic one bit!

Vanessa: Ew. Hermann, that’s nasty.

Hermann: The fact that you are referring to the oranges should be evidence of psychological problems.

Vanessa: I’ll show you our medicine cabinet, you show me yours! But Newt, the question at hand: out of the plethora of memorable kaiju that have ravaged our cities and killed thousands of innocent people, which would you say is the sexiest?

Newt: Hm, that’s tough. Depends on what aspect of a Kaiju you consider the most erotic. 

Hermann: Well I assume they have genitalia.

Newt: So far I’ve only found what we would assign to the female sex, but technically yes, just retractable. Not what you would think to be sexy, though! It’s all about style.

Hermann: Style.

Karla: Style?

Vanessa: Elaborate.

Newt: Right, well, take Hermann for example. The man has no style. No offence, bud, but your haircut is so DIY it could be on a SoCal mommy blog, you dress like you’re desperately trying to get arrested for sodomy, and the other day you called me a “rapscallion”. Like, Jesus. 

Vanessa: Newt, I feel a kindred spirit in you. Please continue. Hermann, I can see you in the background; put your cane down.

Newt: The Kaiju, on the other hand, all have unique and interesting biological structures that allow them to appeal to a wide variety of people who hypothetically would want to fuck them.

Hermann: Hypothetically.

Newt: Like, for example: Hundun. Shovel head! Very cool, very useful, could be good in the garden or for public works projects. Great if you like a little help around the house. Meanwhile, Reckoner attracted all those Kaiju cultists because it not only has a fuck ton of eyes, but they’re huge! All the perks of a spider, plus size. And then there’s Kaiceph, who’s got your classic devil and hellfire imagery right there.

Hermann: We are losing ad revenue by the millisecond.

Newt: And Ragnarok is for all of you Attack on Titan fans who still haven’t gotten the memo that it’s a bunch of Nazi propaganda. Like, seriously. But check out those abs!

Karla: Newt, I would very much like to study you. 

Hermann: Get in line.

Newt: And then, okay, I’m gonna get a bit controversial here—

Hermann: Excuse me, I’m getting some Ibuprofen.

Newt: But a bunch of people say that Spinejackal looks like that cat from Puella Madoka Magica, and that’s just not true! I mean, the feline aspect is there, but it’s Spine-jackal, guys! Jackal! As in, a completely different animal! Just, like, say you’re a furry and go!

Hermann: Alright, Newton. Say it and let’s go.

Newt: What? Dude, I’m not a furry.

Hermann: You have spent the last several minutes rhapsodizing about how desperately you want to have intercourse with a Kaiju. I believe that qualifies.

Newt: No, dude, that’s two different things. Furry and scalie.

Hermann: What.

Vanessa: I am riveted.

Newt: Furry applies to anthropomorphic mammals, like cats and dogs and raccoons and shit, but scalie is reptiles and aquatic ones.

Hermann: What about dolphins?

Newt: What about dolphins? I’ve never seen a dolphin fursona.

Hermann: Well they’re still mammals. Wouldn’t they be under “furry”?

Newt: Yeah, but ocean creatures just go under “scalie” to make it easier.

Hermann: But that’s incorrect, biologically. I would think you would be much more up in arms about this. 

Newt: Well yeah, but I’m not a furry.

Hermann: Newton, I’ve seen your doodles.

[Several seconds of loud, unintelligible screaming from Newt and Hermann. Thumping. The following exchange can be heard as the volume from Newt and Hermann’s audio is decreased slightly.]

Karla: Can we air this? I mean, ethically?

Vanessa: Nah, we’re fine. There’s a whole YouTube channel just dedicated to clips of them going off at conferences and interviews. We’re probably doing them a favor.

Karla: You made it, didn’t you?

Vanessa: Oh my God, no. No, the dude’s Twitter is, like, yellowbagels45 or something. They’re an icon, though. 

Newt [audible]: What I do or don’t have in my bottom drawer is none of your fucking concern! And at least it proves I don’t have a stick up my ass, unlike some people!

[More thumps.]

Vanessa: I mean, like. It’s also really funny.

Karla: No no, I’m not debating that. We may have to cut a Munch Around the Globe I had planned, though.

Vanessa: Aw. What was it?

Karla: Something from Kentucky Fried Chicken called the “KFC Chicken and Donut Sandwich”. You replace the bread with donuts. 

Vanessa: Well. God sends His little miracles.

* * *

Newt doesn’t really mind Hermann recording while he works—he just puts in headphones and tackles the least noisy thing on his to-do list (which is metaphorical, as Newt has never bothered to buy a planner in his entire life)—but being preoccupied doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed how tired Hermann has started to look afterwards. It’s not unwarranted, obviously. Keeping up a persona of endearing sardonicism and putting on a fun show while the world increasingly folds in on itself around them must be one hell of a strain. Still, as Newt watches Hermann remove his headphones and rub fiercely at the deepening lines on his forehead, he can’t help but feel a pang of concern.

He pauses his music and tosses his own earbuds aside, walking over. “Hey dude,” he says, smiling sympathetically when Hermann looks up, “everything good?”

Hermann frowns. “Yes, of course. Why?” He glances around, suddenly suspicious. “Did something get released into the lab circulation again? What did you do?”

Newt shakes his head, holding up his hands defensively. “Dude, no, it was one—okay, three times. You just looked a little rough, that’s all.”

The frown deepens, and Newt can see Hermann start to close himself off. He quickly adds, “I mean, I get it. It must be pretty hard to have to just be funny for an hour and pretend like the world isn’t ending. Aside from, y’know, the rest of the time we do it.”

Hermann sighs and moves his hand to his temples. “It’s a bright spot for a good deal of people, or so I’m told. With everything happening now…” He gestures flippantly, “It’s the least I can do.”

“Well sure,” says Newt, pushing a few books aside on Hermann’s desk and hopping up to sit above him, “but you’re not just some dude who makes a podcast with his sisters, though. You’re also a scientist, and a PPDC one, and one of the last two actually _doing_ anything to stop the Kaiju, and your workload is quite frankly fucking insane. If you need to take a break, it’s totally understandable.”

Hermann gives him a reproachful look, but doesn’t tell him to get down. “That’s just it, Newton. I sometimes feel—” He stops himself, suddenly looking embarrassed at whatever he’s thinking, but Newt nods for him to continue. Hermann swallows hard. “What with the Wall, and those idiots taking our funding by the day, and everything that—that I’m very much hoping won’t happen, but seems more probable with each _bloody_ attack—” There’s color high on his cheeks now, and Newt feels the urge to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes I feel as if we’re just spinning ourselves in circles, waiting for time to run out. And nothing we do matters in the face of these— _things_ , and no one cares.”

Newt feels something twist in his stomach; he’s been thinking the same thing, lately. Their reports to Pentecost could practically be copy-pasted at this point. Yes we’re all still going to die, no there hasn’t been a massive, incredible miracle of a breakthrough, please give us whatever bargain-bin version of these supplies you can find. It’s enough to give a guy so many panic attacks he could make a weekly schedule for them. “Yeah,” he says quietly, staring down at Hermann’s knee just for something to do. “Yeah, I get that. I mean,” he says with a weak laugh, “it’s eleven at night, dude, and we’re just gonna go right back to work after this. And for what? Even more data we can use to tell everybody how fucked we all are? No wonder we’re so fun at parties.”

“People think I am,” Hermann says dryly, and Newt stifles a laugh at that. “It’s true. They hear a tiny part of who I really am, and even who Vanessa and Karla are, and think they know exactly what I’m like in real life. It’s maddening.” He pauses. “But I know our show helps people. It gives them hope, or even if not that, something to listen to that isn’t doom and gloom and a body count. It’s rather pathetic, but I feel as if I’m doing more good making a silly podcast about terrible advice than any of my actual work here. And—I suppose if I can do any good at all…” 

There’s a sniffle from below, and Newt realizes with a start that Hermann is barely holding back tears. “Dude,” he says quietly, and maybe it’s the hour, but rather than resting it on his shoulder, Newt reaches down to take his hand. He squeezes it. “I know. I hate this. I always thought that humanity versus a bunch of aliens would be, like, way less bureaucratic. And people would actually care about fighting them. But I guess humans just want whatever’s shiny and new and easy.” He shifts his weight back and sighs, still holding Hermann’s hand. “And I never thought we’d be the last ones standing. Or that people would think we’re crazy because of it.”

“I don’t,” Hermann says, voice cracking. He clears his throat and continues, “I don’t think you’re crazy, Newton. I think you’re very brave. Which, with you, often blurs the line between the two, but still.”

Newt feels his face grow warm, and has the brief, panicked thought that Hermann will feel how sweaty his palms have become. “I—thanks, man,” he says. “You’re one of the best people I know. You know that, right?” When Hermann gives him a disbelieving snort, he shakes his head. “No, seriously. I don’t know anyone who could do what you’re doing right now. Which means nobody would judge you for taking it easy for a hot minute. You don’t have to be the superhero all the time, y’know. You get to just be Hermann. I hear he’s a pretty great guy.”

Hermann grants Newt a small, but achingly sweet smile at this, then lets go of Newt’s hand to run his own through his hair. “You’ll never get this on tape,” he says, “but you’re right, I suppose. And we _both_ ought to get some rest.” He shoots a pointed look at Newt’s face, and Newt knows he’s eyeing his dark circles. 

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’m happy to second that you don’t get _all_ the credit.”

Hermann huffs and knocks his cane against Newt’s leg in response, but all Newt can think about is how long he waited to pull his hand away.

* * *

_From the V-Day evidence database of the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps, Hong Kong Shatterdome. Audio taken from the voice recorder of Head of K-Science, Biology Division, Dr. Newton Geiszler, prior to first Drift with a Kaiju brain fragment. Transcription of audio has been lightly edited for clarity._

Dr. Newton Geiszler: …and Hermann, if you’re listening, well. I guess this is pretty poetic, huh? Me on the mic, and not the other way around. At least this way you can’t interrupt me. Bet you’ve got all kinds of critiques of my “technique”, and are complaining about the background noise, and—and whatever. But I guess if you are listening then that means I’m alive, in which case I’m right, and I won, and ha, ha, ha, or, uh, I’m dead. Which I guess would, like, suck or whatever, especially since it’s definitely all your fault, uh, somehow. But, uh. What you said, about people assuming? And the real you? I, um—if I’m dead when you hear this, I guess I want you to know that I hope I got to meet him. I like to think I did. But maybe I wasn’t important enough to you, or whatever. I know I’d tell him I—[metal clanking, thumps] shit. Shit, nevermind. Okay, I’m going in in three… two… [a click, muffled thumps and the recorder clicks off].

* * *

Newt barely gets a second or two to breathe once LOCCENT quickly begins to undertake the dire task of shifting into party mode, before he’s grabbed by the collar of his jacket and hauled out of the room faster than Hermann’s cane should really allow. He assumes this indicates the level of fucked he’s about to be. Once they make it out into the hallway, Hermann spins him around and fixes him with a look of pure rage so intense and vitriol that Newt decides no, actually, the level is infinitely higher than that. “Uh,” he says tonelessly, hoping words will magically appear in his mouth to diffuse the situation, “so. You look mad.”

Hermann’s jaw tightens infinitesimally. Newt wonders if the Breach still has a crack or two, and how fast he can swim at his current adrenaline levels. He theorizes pretty quickly.

“My fault,” Hermann says in a low, venomous voice, and oh yeah, Newt did kinda say that, didn’t he. The waves of bright, dry anger coming at him through the Drift feel like a land wind.

“Well, uh,” he tries, “people do tend to say stupid things when they’re faced with the increasing possibility of death by the second. So I feel like I could maybe score a pass for that one. Considering I was right.”

“I hope you can feel my desire to smack you right now,” and yep, Newt can definitely sense that fantasy—“because while I am in possession of far too much self-control to do so, know that it is there, and _very tempting_.”

“Okay, well, I’m sorry, that was shitty of me, but that’s it, then?” he asks, a ball of ice and nerves bouncing around his stomach like some kind of twisted pinball machine. “That’s the only thing I said you wanted to talk about?”

Hermann twists his lips even further downward, if possible. “Why would I want to talk about anything else? You made it very clear your opinion of me, and while our compatibility is certainly a lucky strike, I don’t expect it means anything more than complimentary preferences towards a half of the brain.”

“Well then you’re fucking stupid,” Newt says, and he can _see_ Hermann’s hand twitch along with his lower eyelid. “No,” he insists, “listen, you wanna hate me, that’s fine, but don’t pretend I didn’t say some other shit while I was _baring my soul to you_.”

“What are you talking about, Newton?” Hermann says, voice suddenly laced with exhaustion. Newt reaches up to bat the hand on his shoulder away.

“What am I talking about? You were just in my head for fuck’s sake; c’mon, dude. Can we not play the repression Olympics for two seconds?”

“Newton, don’t.” The hand drops to Hermann’s side, and he shakes his head, the fight suddenly fading just slightly. His voice is still bitter when he says, “You cannot—”

“Can’t what?” Newt asks sharply. “Especially after I was in your goddamn head? You seriously think this is some kind of fucked up parasocial thing, even when I’ve practically lived with you for five years?”

“Parasocial?” Hermann echoes, visibly confused. He waves his hand back and forth, shaking his head and adjusting his grip on his cane. “No. I cannot engage in a fruitless conversation right now, and have no desire to. Goodnight, Newton.”

He abruptly pushes past Newt to move down the hall, getting a few seconds of a head start before Newt’s feet catch up to his brain. He hurries after him.

“ _What?!_ Are you kidding me? You can’t just walk away when I’m trying to—Hermann.” Hermann refuses to stop, not even turning his head, so Newt grabs his wrist and plants his feet on the grating, exclaiming, “Hermann! Would you please just let me look at you?”

“ _Why?!_ ” Hermann shouts, rounding on Newt to yank his hand away and lean in, eyes flashing. “Why do you want to? It was never about me; I know it isn’t now, and I don’t understand why you insist on—on _pushing_ so much just for something that will only disappoint you!”

Newt lets out a puff of breath in surprise. “Disappoint me?” he says, quieter this time. “Is that what you’re so scared of? How could you ever do that?”

Hermann deflates like a broken parachute rushing towards the ground. “Because you were in my mind, Newton. And if it had not been to save the world, I wouldn’t have forced it upon you.”

“But you didn’t,” he insists. “Hermann, again, I _told_ you. Even though now I’m not dead; you have to know that I didn’t care about—about the _fantasy._ Or who everybody thinks you are, or any of that stuff. I mean, your listeners haven’t seen you on four hours of sleep with ink on your face. But I have. And I’m _glad._ ” Despite his nerves, he pushes a small, hesitant smile onto his face. “Dude, I know you think that’s the better version of you, but it isn’t. And I know you. The real, actual you. And I like him a lot better, if I’m being honest.”

Hermann swallows visibly. “Please _don’t—_ ”

“Fuck you, I’m not lying. What did you think I knew I’d tell him?”

The fingers on Hermann’s hands are both almost entirely white from tension. In a short, cracked series of noises, he chokes out, “I don’t know.”

Newt takes the hand whose wrist he had grabbed and brings it up to cup his own cheek. He keeps his hand over the top of Hermann’s. “Yeah you do. Liar. Don’t pretend you didn’t see me too.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to look,” he says in almost a whisper. Newt nods just before closing the gap between them.

“Of course I did. Why do you think I said yes?”

* * *

_The following is a transcript from the Eureka! episode titled “13: Your Changing Ice Sheets and You”. Dialogue has been lightly edited for clarity._

Newt: No, babe, I agree; Greenland should just be completely taken out of the picture. Y’see, listeners, that increase in ice does absolutely, literally nothing to cancel out the thousands of tons of ice being detracted from the rest of the global ice sheets, creating a massive net loss for the planet rather than gain. So fuck you, Steven, and your stupid mug.

Hermann: Exactly. And the earlier mentioned journal unfortunately tries to use this same evidence, which renders it completely useless, and a disgrace to the scientific community.

Newt: Also, didn’t Correl ask a really shitty question at one of your panels? The one about quantum mechanics applied to the interior of the Breach.

Hermann: Well yes, but that has no influence on my opinion whatsoever. This is a program about scientific developments, Newton, not petty arguments.

Newt: But he’s still a dick.

Hermann: Your words, not mine.

Newt: I can literally hear you cussing him out in German.

Hermann: No jury would convict me. And stop poking around. Now, an interesting argumentative point for people of Correl’s ilk is the effect of clouds on climate change. In a New York Times article from 2012, Dr. Lindzen says that a warming planet will have less cloud coverage, in our case near the equator, allowing heat to escape to space through there. There are a significant number of holes to poke in this theory, despite many having already been since it was proposed, as it is completely and utter rubbish.

Newt: Aw, I love it when you use British words. It reminds me that you’re not completely out of my league.

Hermann: You are incorrigible.

Newt: Now that’s no way to foster a fruitful business relationship. You hurt my poor ego.

Hermann: Oh for heaven’s sake.

Newt: Hey, hey, now you have to kiss it better.

Hermann: And there goes our reputation as a respectable program. Thank you, Newton.

Newt: You’re welcome, baby.

Hermann: No.

Newt: Pumpkin pie.

Hermann: I will edit this out.

Newt: Yeah, and keep it ‘cause you think I’m adorable.

Hermann: I said incorrigible.

Newt: Same thing. It’s a fact. We only deal in facts, here. You wanna know another one?

Hermann: I will either way.

Newt: You’re my favorite collection of atoms in the universe. 

[The sound of presumably Newt kissing Hermann.]

Hermann: [a sigh] And you are my favorite proof of the miracle of life. Now tell me about the clouds.

Newt: They’re fucking bullshit!

Hermann: Of course they are.


End file.
